


some things require leaving

by idrilka



Series: studies on intimacy [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Coda, Homecoming, Kissing, M/M, POV Victor Nikiforov, Post-Rostelecom Cup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8738638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idrilka/pseuds/idrilka
Summary: It still amazes Victor, how much one person can feel like home.
(Or: On leaving and returning.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [radialarch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radialarch/gifts).



> For radialarch, because it's all her fault. Mutually assured destruction indeed.

It’s a long way home. 

They catch a train back to Hasetsu, but they won’t arrive until the early hours of the morning. Victor would know; he made the same journey just two days earlier, his throat tight with worry, shoulders tense. 

It felt wrong, somehow, coming back to Hasetsu without Yuuri by his side.

 

The sight of Mari waiting for him on the front steps, hidden behind a cloud of cigarette smoke, makes him pause for a brief moment, as if incapable of making another step if it means learning that Makkachin didn’t make it. 

“He’s asleep,” Mari tells him over the distance that still separates them, looking up at him with tired eyes, and Victor can feel the way his heart staggers in his chest. “You should be, too.”

Victor, who has never been good at following other people’s advice, just this once nods and follows Mari inside without a word. The inn is quiet at this time of night, but Victor has lived here long enough to know that in less than a couple of hours Yuuri’s parents and Mari will be up, preparing for the long day ahead. 

“You hungry?” Mari asks as he drags his suitcase after him and removes his gloves and scarf. The lights are low, but even when her face remains obscured by shadows, Victor can’t miss how exhausted she looks.

He shakes his head. 

“I should be sleeping,” he teases. “You said so yourself.”

Before he can head up to his room, though, Mari catches him by the sleeve, stopping him in his tracks.

“He’ll be fine.”

Victor is not sure if she means Makkachin or Yuuri. Maybe both.

He doesn’t turn around to look at her.

“I know.”

Upstairs, his room is dark and quiet, and Victor slides the door closed behind him as he enters, letting himself linger in the darkness for a moment before he reaches to turn on a lamp. Makkachin is sleeping soundly, curled up in the middle of the bed without a worry in the world, and relief washes over Victor like a tidal wave. He closes the distance between the door and his bed in three long strides and buries his face in Makkachin’s soft fur. He senses rather than sees the moment Makkachin jerks awake with a quiet bark. 

His throat feels tight but his heart feels like he’s just landed a jump, the rush of adrenaline familiar and unmistakable.

“Don’t scare me like that ever again, okay?” he says as Makkachin licks his face, and Victor lets him because he’s never been able to say no where Makkachin was concerned. “What would I even do without you?”

Makkachin only whines in response as Victor undresses to curl up next to him on the bed. The room is cold, but Makkachin is a warm, steady presence right next to him, and Victor falls asleep almost immediately just as it starts to dawn.

 

Yuuri falls asleep soon after they depart from the train station. Victor can see that he does his best to stay awake, but he keeps dozing off and shaking himself awake every five minutes, until Victor wraps his arm around his shoulders and tugs him closer, letting Yuuri’s head lean against his collarbone. When he’s sure Yuuri is asleep, he presses a brief kiss to his hair that smells unmistakably of recycled plane air and wind, and for the first time since they parted ways in Moscow, he feels at peace, like the world stopped for just a second, leaving the two of them moving while everything else stood completely still.

The train isn’t very crowded at this hour, and the other passengers are mostly asleep as well, so there is no one to stare as Victor pulls Yuuri even closer and rests his cheek on top of his head, his other arm now wrapped loosely around Yuuri’s waist. 

Yuuri’s glasses are folded safely into the inner pocket of Victor’s coat. At Victor’s feet, Makkachin is snoring softly, his nose tucked into his paws.

It’s quiet, save for the monotonous sound of the train that at this hour puts everyone to sleep.

Victor is no stranger to feeling bone-tired, exhaustion creeping in through the cracks, and even now that he’s not competing, the demands of the Grand Prix circuit are starting to take a toll on him. It’s not really the training, even though Victor keeps up with his regime religiously, but rather the long stretches of travel and being away from home that leave him worn out and spread too thin. It’s something you can get used to, the way you can get used to blisters and chafing when your break in a new pair of skates, because it’s just a means to an end, but leaving, again and again, until the empty apartment you return to when all is said and done stops feeling like a home—it’s something that stays with you, deep in your marrow, as you keep ripping out the shallow roots one by one before they can really take hold. 

A sleepy little town in rural Japan seems as good a place as any to finally let them sink into the ground.

For a while, Victor is content to just breathe in sync with Yuuri, his eyes closed, but when he feels himself starting to drift away, he opens his eyes and shifts in his seat. Yuuri makes a small noise in his throat and follows Victor’s movement, but he doesn’t wake up. 

There are photos of the two of them hugging in the middle of the Fukuoka Airport all over Twitter. Victor favorites a few of them that look particularly nice, including the one that caught the moment when Makkachin jumped on their legs, demanding attention and hugs, and saves one of them to his phone. They look good in those photos. Happy. 

Victor is used to looking at himself through the eyes and lenses of other people, but those moments are usually much less intimate and much more calculated. To see himself like this, completely unguarded, open and honest, feels strange but at the same time oddly fitting, because he can never be anything else when it comes to Yuuri. 

It’s almost like the kiss in China all over again, except back there Victor knew, even if it never became a conscious thought in its own right, that everyone would be watching. This—this was supposed to be just the two of them. 

He doesn’t mind, though. He’s done his fair share of hiding and toeing the line of plausible deniability, but what he has with Yuuri was never supposed to be a secret. Victor refuses to treat it otherwise.

After a while, he feels Yuuri starting to stir, and then the weight on his shoulder disappears as Yuuri pulls back and looks up, rubbing the sand out of his eyes. 

“Victor?” he says, his voice rough from sleep. 

“We should be home soon,” Victor says before he realizes how it sounds. He can’t bring himself to care.

Yuuri just nods, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—the two of them, returning home together.

Victor watches as Yuuri looks around at the other passengers for a moment, then peers out the window. It’s still dark outside; the sun won’t be up for another half an hour, and it’s winter, when darkness clings to the night for as long as it can. By the time they get back to Yu-topia, they grey light of the early morning will start to filter in through Victor’s windows, but they will be probably too tired to care. 

Slowly, inch by inch, the exhaustion and lack of sleep start to slowly catch up to Victor, and he stifles a yawn with the back of his hand. Fifteen more minutes, and then they will be home. 

 

The train arrives at the Hasetsu Station with a five-minute delay, and people slowly start to spill out onto the platform, tired and sleepy, wanting nothing more than to get back to their homes and beds as soon as possible. In the steady throng of tired, worn-out bodies in wrinkled, grey clothes, Makkachin is a bright spot of color and excess energy, now that he slept through most of the train ride and earlier, while Victor was waiting for Yuuri at the arrivals terminal. 

“Makkachin, be good,” Yuuri admonishes, taking the leash and kneeling in front of the dog to give him head scratches while Victor tries to flag them a cab. 

The cab driver, when they finally pile into the car, looks equally tired at the tail end of a long night shift, and when Victor gives him the address in Japanese, he just grunts in acknowledgment before turning the key in the ignition.

Yu-topia is dark and quiet when they get in, the grey light of the morning filling the entire interior with a dull glow, but soon they’re greeted by a sleepy, disheveled Mari, who waves at them apathetically just to crush Yuuri in a hug a moment later. From where Victor is standing, it looks like it’s equally surprising to both of them.

“You did good, kiddo,” Mari says, quiet enough that Victor can barely make out the words, but still in English, which means that he was supposed to hear it. “Now go get some sleep.” She gives Victor a look. “ _Both_ of you. I got work to do.”

 

Upstairs, it’s darker and more quiet, the pale light of the morning obscured by the thick glass, the sounds of the town slowly waking up from its slumber distant and muted. 

It’s at this strange hour, suspended between day and night, that Yuuri presses warm fingers to the nape of Victor’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss—just a soft, chaste touch of lips against lips—and Victor’s heart flutters in his chest like he’s fifteen again, and being kissed for the first time, the exhilaration of it coursing through his veins and filling his lungs with a warmth that blossoms inside his ribcage, threatening to burst.

Slowly, Yuuri pulls back, his eyes still closed. In that moment, in the dull light of the early morning, he looks like was made to be kissed.

“What was that for?” Victor asks, teasing but fond.

Yuuri shrugs, smiling faintly as he looks straight at Victor. “Maybe I just wanted to.” A pause. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

As if Victor could’ve done anything else.

One day, Victor thinks, Yuuri will fully realize what being near him does to Victor’s heart. In someone else’s hands, it would be the most dangerous weapon of all. Not Yuuri, though, never Yuuri, who has never been anything but gentle with the heart that Victor wears on his sleeve in front of him, for everyone to see. 

“Let’s go to sleep,” Victor says instead, and Yuuri follows without a word, like it’s a foregone conclusion that they will be sharing a bed. 

Victor tangles their fingers together between them as they walk down the hall, Yuuri’s suitcase long forgotten at the top of the staircase to be taken care of later, Makkachin padding quietly half a step behind them at Victor’s side.

The bed is still unmade when they come into the room, the sheets crumpled and flung to the side in disarray, but Yuuri doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he undresses down to his underwear, unselfconscious for once, in a way that makes Victor’s heart skip a beat. He doesn’t see this Yuuri often, at least not off the ice. But here it is, everything between them laid out in the open, and this time, they both close the distance, meeting halfway. 

Yuuri is the first to climb under the covers, burying himself under the sheets up to his nose. The air in the room is slightly chilly—it stood empty throughout the night, but now Yuuri’s warmth is filling that empty space in Victor’s room, in Victor’s bed. In Victor’s heart.

It’s a new thing for them, sharing the same space as they sleep, even closer than they are during the day, shielded away from people’s eyes for once. Victor is used to living in the spotlight, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t value the moments of privacy. 

There’s a certain vulnerability in allowing a person into your bed, in sharing with someone the way you look in the morning just after waking up, open and honest, and unguarded. Victor might have wanted that in some abstract way, with someone, somewhere along the line, but now it feels like the most natural thing in the world, falling asleep and coming awake next to Yuuri.

He’s slowly drifting away when he feels the press of Yuuri’s lips against the hollow of his throat, a warm exhale of breath against his skin as Yuuri opens his mouth a little, then presses another kiss to Victor’s collarbone.

They’re both beyond exhausted, skirting the edge of sleep, but in the warmth of their bed, they still seek each other out, even as they stay pressed close together, chest to chest, their legs tangled under the covers. 

The first touch of lips on lips is lazy and slow as Victor cups Yuuri’s face gently and tips his chin up to kiss him, intended more as a final goodnight kiss, but then Yuuri opens his mouth slightly, and Victor follows suit. The quiet, wet sounds of their lips sliding against each other as they continue to kiss unhurriedly leave him breathless and his chest tight with something that blooms with warmth when Yuuri tangles their fingers together, resting their joined hands on the pillow beside his head. After a moment, Yuuri’s thumb starts tracing slow, absentminded circles on Victor’s skin. 

When Victor inhales, all he can smell is Yuuri’s scent. His sheets will now smell like Yuuri in the morning, except the scent won’t fade with time, because Yuuri will be coming back to this bed with Victor, again and again. It’s the most exhilarating feeling.

After a while passes, filled with languid kisses and shared air, Yuuri pulls away for a second and touches his forehead to Victor’s, breathing steadily. There’s still less than an inch separating them, their lips almost touching as they grow completely still for a heartbeat, then two, then three. Then, slowly, Yuuri turns his head to the side and brings Victor’s hand to his lips. The kiss is tender and soft, just like Yuuri’s mouth. Just like Yuuri. 

The motion leaves the curve of his neck exposed, and Victor’s lips slip lower, and lower still, until he can feel Yuuri’s pulse against his skin. Yuuri, who—apart from the airy breaths that have escaped him every now and then—has been completely silent, makes a quiet sound at the back of his throat. 

It still amazes Victor, how much one person can feel like home. 

Outside, they can hear the sounds of the inn slowly coming back to life after the long winter night slumber, but here, in this room, with just the two of them breathing the same air, their lips still touching even as they start to fall asleep, Victor feels like he finally belongs. 

A year ago, the idea would’ve seemed laughable—the idea that Victor would fit into this quiet life of a small, sleepy town that grows more and more empty by the year; that he would fit into the life of this tight-knit family that has more love to give to a stranger than his own parents ever did to their own son. 

But he still wakes up every morning at seven and eats breakfast at the bar down at the inn while Toshiya does his accounts off on the side, and he still plays with Makkachin in the backyard under Mari’s watchful gaze as she takes her cigarette break, and he still skates at the Ice Castle every day, and jokes around with the kids Yuuko coaches in clumsy Japanese, and comes back to Hiroko’s cooking and her warm smile. _Vicchan_ , she says, and it sounds like _stay_.

Now that he knows that Yuuri wants him to stay, too, it’s no use pretending he doesn’t want that as well. 

 

Victor can’t remember the exact moment he falls asleep that morning, enveloped by Yuuri’s warmth and scent, their lips still touching as they slowly drift off, but when he wakes up some time later, with the sun high in the sky, his face is tucked into the crook of Yuuri’s neck, his arm slung loosely around Yuuri’s waist. 

Makkachin must have jumped onto the bed at some point while they were asleep, because Victor can feel the familiar warm form snuggled against his back. When Victor stretches a bit until he hears his joints pop, Makkachin barks quietly in his sleep, disgruntled. Victor stifles a laugh. 

When he looks at Yuuri, the fondness he feels is overwhelming. Nobody ever told his heart how to behave, so it could only follow its own counsel. And this—this is where it led him. 

In a short moment, he will get up, get dressed and wander downstairs to eat breakfast at the bar, chatting with Toshiya all the while, as Yuuri’s father calmly continues to sort through his papers. He will take Makkachin out for a walk, let him chase after the local seagulls even though in his heart of hearts, Makkachin must know it’s a futile endeavor. He will lace up his skates and glide across the pristine surface of the ice at the rink, thinking of nothing at all; and he will talk with Yuuko in quiet voices while Yuuri goes through his choreography back on the ice. He will come back and kiss Yuuri in the dark nooks and crannies of the inn like he deserves to be kissed, and he will kiss him in full view of anyone watching, and he will not be ashamed. 

Now, though—now he buries his face in the nape of Yuuri’s neck and hears the way Yuuri sighs softly in his sleep, and tells himself: just a moment longer.

But the fact remains: it’s impossible to come together without first coming apart, and some things, Victor learns, require leaving before you can finally come home.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to, come say hi on [tumblr](http://idrilka.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
